


Faith

by warriorofculture



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorofculture/pseuds/warriorofculture
Summary: A disastrous concert has Squidward vowing to never play his clarinet again
Relationships: SpongeBob SquarePants/Squidward Tentacles
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Faith

He gazed out his window, watching the sun setting in the distance. The skies had already turned varying shades of pink and orange, providing an interesting contrast to the colourful sky flowers that hung in the water high above him. It was a peaceful day, a pleasant day. He debated whether he should start cooking dinner, but the sight of the sunset kept him at the window. Dinner could wait.

Instead, he thought back on all the fun he’d had that day – first was a rousing romp around Jellyfish Fields, where he caught more jellyfish than he could count; afterwards, he and his best friend had a contest to see who could blow the biggest bubble, then the most bubbles in one breath. The memories put a smile on his lips as he allowed himself to relax and let his thoughts wander.

His mind snapped back into focus when he spotted a familiar figure running down the road in the direction of his house. It was difficult to see them clearly, but the figure held something long under their arm as they ran. His confusion and curiosity spiked at this; the movement and speed suggested the figure was trying to go somewhere quickly out of urgency. Why?

The figure turned and headed for the house next to his, though the long thing was dropped on the ground before the figure dashed inside the house, slamming the door behind them.

His eyes widened.

Something was wrong.

He left his own house, stepping outside into the dying evening light. He crossed his yard and entered his neighbour’s yard, knowing he was not wanted there. Despite this, he walked closer to the house, not stopping until he stood before the long object on the ground before him. He picked it up, realising it was a black clarinet.

The instrument wasn’t dropped; the movement from earlier strongly suggested it was thrown on the ground.

He gazed at the clarinet for several long moments before murmuring one word.

“Squidward…”

* * *

He laid in bed, covered himself with a blanket and closed his eyes, trying his best to hold back his tears. The pain from just twenty minutes ago was still a fresh wound that had already overwhelmed him, overcome him. His head hurt, his heart hurt… everything hurt. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole so the pain would finally end.

The light was off in his room, and as the sun set, the room was plunged into darkness. Good, he thought. Now no one, not even he, could see the tears that fell. He’d tried so hard to hold them back but once he felt a few escaping from between his closed eyelids, it was as though the dam holding back his tears finally burst.

He laid there and quietly cried, tears streaming onto his pillow.

There was no telling how long he did that, but after a time, he felt his tears subsiding, leaving him with a headache. At least the other pains from earlier were gone, since all the pain was now focused in one spot.

However, before he could decide what to do about the headache, he heard a sound: footsteps.

He stiffened.

Someone had entered his house.

He kept as quiet as possible. Hopefully whoever had come inside didn’t know he was there, since the lights were all out, and they’d leave soon. Even if it were a burglar, they’d grab whatever they were after and take their leave. Whatever the reason, he just hoped he’d be left alone.

The footsteps headed for the stairs, echoing in the stairwell.

His pulse sped up.

He heard the steps coming ever closer, closer…

Fear rose within him. The mysterious intruder seemed to know where he was.

Wait…

Realisation hit him the same moment the door slowly opened, and his fear instantly vanished, replaced instead with the headache from moments ago.

“Spongebob,” he muttered.

“Squidward?” a soft voice called into the dark room.

“What do you want?” His voice was flat.

Spongebob’s response was hesitant. “Well, I… I saw you running home, and you threw your clarinet on the ground, so I—”

“I’m never touching that thing again.”

“What? Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Squidward, I know you. Your biggest passion – besides yourself, of course – is your music, and you’d never do something so careless with your clarinet. If you’re like this, something very big, and very bad, must have happened. And I want to help.”

“What could _you_ possibly do to help?”

“Listen.”

Squidward was silent. Anytime something bad happened to him – which was quite often, unfortunately – he’d have to keep his words and emotions pent up inside him. Sometimes he could release his emotions by doing something else, like painting or watching TV, but he usually turned to playing his clarinet and losing himself in the music to forget about his troubles.

But the clarinet _was_ the trouble.

He knew painting or watching television wouldn’t solve this dilemma, either.

He gave a shaky sigh, feeling the tears from earlier attempting to make a comeback.

“…Alright.”

He waited for the usual shout of glee from his neighbour, but to his surprise, Spongebob only moved closer to the bed and clicked on a lamp on the nightstand, giving the room a bit of illumination. Squidward squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden light, then blinked a few times as his sight adjusted. Spongebob sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at him, smiling.

“Start talking whenever you’re ready.”

Squidward looked away for a moment. He could hardly believe he was about to tell someone about what had happened such a short time ago, but even more incredible was the calm way Spongebob was handling the situation. Under normal circumstances, the sea sponge would be acting much more hyperactive and excited at the prospect of being able to stay in Squidward’s house and likely end up breaking something in the process.

Yet here he was, seated on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for him to pour out his troubles to him.

He blew out a sigh. “You… You know about the concert I held tonight.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. You told me not to go.”

“It’s probably better that you didn’t.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. If it were just about anyone other than Spongebob, he wouldn’t have such a hard time confessing the truth. Unfortunately, the yellow sponge was his only option right now. As much as he hated to admit it, if he wanted to get his troubles off his chest, this was the sole person who would listen.

“I held the concert because of my idol, Murray Butterfish,” he began. “He’s a famous composer who specialises in writing concert pieces for clarinets, and I’ve been a big fan of his for many years. I met him a couple of months ago and learnt about the latest piece he’d written. I’d convinced him to let me be the first to play it, as I’m the best clarinet player in Bikini Bottom. Since I had his composition and backing, it was easy to get everything set up for the concert. It all went so smoothly… I was sure this concert would catapult me to superstardom and get me out of this town for good.

“The first minute or so of my performance went well, or so I thought. When I played, I didn’t hear anything from the audience; maybe they were so impressed by my playing, they didn’t know what to say. After another minute, I started hearing murmurs, whispers… I tried to ignore them as I kept playing, but… but then…” He faltered.

“At that moment, I felt – and saw – my clarinet yanked from my mouth and hands. Standing before me was Murray, glaring at me. He told me I was a farce, a joke. I had no business standing on that stage, playing a clarinet the way I had, ruining his beautiful work. He was angry about me lying to him about my talent and… and wasting everyone’s time and money.

“Th- That’s what he said, Spongebob.” Tears brimmed in his eyes, threatening to spill. “I… I couldn’t go on. I don’t know how I got my clarinet back, but I knew it was in my hands as I ran from the stage and as far away from that place as I could get.”

Spongebob was silent as he listened to Squidward’s story. He knew the octopus had faced a lot of hatred and negativity whenever it came to his playing, but it was another matter entirely when it was on such a grand scale. It was quite impressive Squidward had been able to convince his idol to let him play a new piece, but even Spongebob knew it was a disaster from the get-go, thanks to Squidward’s poor playing.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t known about the circumstances surrounding the concert he’d been forbidden from attending, and Squidward had paid a painful price for his ego.

“And you refuse to play your clarinet ever again?” he asked softly.

Squidward nodded. “I don’t want to go through that again. Murray was right; I have no business going on stage and playing a clarinet.”

“Squidward…” Spongebob paused, thinking of the right words to say. “This one bad experience shouldn’t be enough to get you to stop playing; you’ve faced many setbacks in the past and ignored what others thought. Besides, it doesn’t matter how good or bad you are, only that you keep playing because you have fun with it.”

Squidward scoffed. “I thought you said you knew me, Spongebob. You know I don’t play for ‘fun’.”

“You may be right,” he conceded, “but I think that’s your problem.”

“…What?”

“You’re not playing for the fun of it; you’re playing to impress others and become famous.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Spongebob gestured to him; the octopus remained on his bed, covered with a blanket. He’d been lying in the darkness and crying before his neighbour showed up.

“Need I say anything more?”

Squidward sighed again. “Okay, so you have a point. Now what?”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“C’mon, get up.” Spongebob stood and faced him.

“But I don’t want to—”

“Nevermind that, just get up.”

Squidward grumbled to himself as he sat up and gradually rose from the bed. He still wore the suit he’d had on whilst performing at the concert. “Now what?”

“Follow me.” Without waiting for a response, Spongebob walked out of the bedroom.

Squidward was tempted to lie back in bed and forget the whole thing, but curiosity nagged at him. What was Spongebob wanting him to do that involved leaving the room? Why was his neighbour and co-worker doing all of this, anyway?

Pushing back his questions, he headed for the door and listened. He heard footsteps echoing on the stairs again as Spongebob descended. Squidward frowned as he made his way to the staircase and followed. When he emerged into his living room, he was surprised to find it vacant; the only sign of Spongebob’s presence was the front door moving a bit, as it was left ajar.

“Why am I doing this,” he muttered to himself as he crossed the room.

He pulled open the door and stepped outside. The coolness of the evening felt good after the time he’d spent under his blanket, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about… well, anything. It was just another night in Bikini Bottom; the stars glittered amongst the sky flowers, and the distant lights indicated where the rest of the town was located.

Out here, it was quiet.

He was alone.

“Look at the sky.”

The words startled him out of his thoughts. He knew who the voice belonged to, but instead of searching for the source, he did as he was told, lifting his gaze skyward.

The stars coldly looked down on him, reminding him of what had happened earlier. His irritated look changed to one of sorrow; pain lanced through his heart as he recalled the words spat at him by the fish he’d once considered his idol.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Squidward?”

As before, the voice jerked him out of his thoughts, bringing him to the present. However, his unhappy expression remained on his features as he asked, “What’s beautiful?”

“The stars,” came the response. “We see them every night; they always come after the sun sets.”

“So?”

“The sun sets, the stars come out. In the morning, the stars fade away as the sun rises. And in the evening, the sun sets again and the stars come out again.”

He sighed. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that no matter what happens, to you or me or anyone else, the stars come out every night and the sun rises every morning. If something good happens, tomorrow will come. If something bad happens, tomorrow will still come. Good times become memories and the pain from bad times eventually fade.”

He was suddenly aware of someone standing awfully close to him but found himself unable to move.

“I can’t begin to imagine how much the concert hurt you,” Spongebob murmured. “I’m deeply sorry it had to happen. I wish I could’ve been there to try to help, but it’s too late. What’s happened has happened. All either of us can do – all _you_ can do – is keep going. Wake up in the morning and go to work and put the events of the concert behind you.

“I _do_ know you, Squidward. No matter what anyone else says, I know you’re a great clarinet player because you put your soul into your playing. I can hear it when you play, and it’s a beautiful thing. Please don’t quit just because of that Murray Butterfish guy; keep playing because the world needs to hear your soul… _I_ need to hear your soul.”

Squidward finally tore his gaze from the stars to gape at the sea sponge standing beside him. Spongebob had been looking up at the stars, but when he realised Squidward had his attention focused on him, he moved his gaze to look at his neighbour and smiled.

The octopus was at a loss. It was rather moving, hearing Spongebob’s words, and for a moment he nearly convinced himself to continue playing the clarinet. However, at the last sentence, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Why would Spongebob say such a thing?

Maybe it was better to just ignore that bit at the end, he told himself. What mattered was the rest of those words, where he put his soul into his playing. Did he really do so? He wasn’t aware of it, anyway. He played because he believed he was great at it and that he should become famous for it.

Right?

He turned his head away. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he admitted.

“I know you can. You just need to have more faith in yourself and forget about the concert.”

Squidward opened his mouth to reply, but only a gasp came out as he felt a hand touching his. He returned his attention to Spongebob, who had a very gentle grasp of his hand. He tried to say something but could only watch as the sea sponge placed a second hand on top of his.

“It doesn’t matter if you become famous for your clarinet playing,” Spongebob softly continued, his gaze on their hands. “What matters is that I… er, that is, _you_ have fun playing. Even if no one else will listen to your playing, even if you don’t think you have any fans, there will always be one who will listen and be your fan.”

“…You?”

Spongebob nodded.

“Why… Why are you doing all this, anyway?”

“Because I…” Spongebob looked away for a moment, then realised he was still holding Squidward’s hand. He immediately let go, his cheeks reddening. “Oh! I- I’m sorry, I…”

Squidward kept his gaze on his neighbour, realising Spongebob suddenly seemed unable to finish his sentences. He raised an eyebrow, wondering about this abrupt change in behaviour. At the same time, it felt as though his hand got a lot colder without the two warm yellow hands holding it.

He returned his gaze to the stars twinkling overhead. He was grateful they were far from the centre of town, as the night was quiet. It gave him time to think without distraction. Since Spongebob had flustered himself into silence, there was even less chance of being side-tracked.

He mulled everything over. It was true he’d been rejected by people who listened to him play; he’d even been rejected by people he’d once admired. He’d always thought he played perfectly, yet anytime he performed for anyone else, no matter how famous they may be, it was always hated.

Why?

He had no idea.

However, there was one person, only one, who always appreciated him whenever he practised or performed. No matter how good or bad the outcome of said playing, that person never wavered in their loyalty and admiration of him.

And now that person was telling him to move on from the fiasco of the concert, to play because _he_ wanted to hear the soul poured into every note.

He looked down.

Spongebob remained standing beside him, but had his gaze averted. He seemed embarrassed, though with what, he wasn’t sure.

“Spongebob…”

“Y- Yes?”

“I’ve… been thinking.”

“Oh?”

“And I realise… you’re right. I don’t have to play solely for recognition or fame, I should play because it’s enjoyable.” He paused. “And because someone likes it whenever I play.”

“S… Someone?”

“Yes. Even if that someone is the only person in the world who will listen, I’ll always have a reason to keep playing.”

Spongebob finally looked up at him, an expression of wonder on his features. “Y- You mean…”

He nodded. “I’m talking about you, of course.”

Spongebob smiled, a warm, caring smile. “I’d love to hear you play again.”

“Then I shall do so.” Squidward looked around. “Where is—”

He was cut off when he felt something familiar pushed into his hands. Looking down, he saw his clarinet resting in his hands once again. Spongebob had likely picked it up when he saw it on the ground.

“What—”

“Could you play for me now?” Spongebob asked.

He found himself smiling as he reached out a hand and placed it on the side of the sea sponge’s face. “Of course,” he replied.

Spongebob leaned into the hand as he used both his hands to hold Squidward’s. “Thank you, Squidward.”

“I should be thanking you, Spongebob. You’ve given me a reason to not give up… and it’s an incredibly good reason.”

Later, the stars looked on in silence as the notes from a clarinet drifted into the night; the instrument’s sound full of soul…

And something else.


End file.
